STEVE PALMER

Weblog: Seven days in the life of a man born to punt

Higgins provides the ammunition for my next shot at freedom

Saturday, January 30
I had pocketed £200 from Alex Reid winningCelebrity Big Brother the night before, having backed him at the point where he got completely naked and allowed fellow housemates to spray fake tan all over his body. Joe Public loves that sort of caper

If Reid had worked out a cure for cancer while inside the Big Brother house or a masterplan to end the worldwide recession, he might not have won, but by parading a pair of muscular buttocks in front of the nation and charging around like an orange version of the Incredible Hulk, he triumphed by a landslide.

Gordon Brown now knows exactly what is required if he is going to halt his slide in the opinion polls. Jeremy Paxman could be in for a shock during the next edition of Newsnight.

While Reid was in the process of being crowned champion, I also had a couple of wagers on Stephen Warnock and Kieran Richardson to make the England World Cup squad, having heard a few whispers about John Terry and Wayne Bridge not being the best of friends anymore.

I had £150 on Warnock at 9-4 with Paddy Power and £50 on Richardson at 10-1 with the same firm on the basis that they provide the best options for left-back cover with Bridge likely to be staying at home wondering if he can trust anyone but his dog.

My first wager of Saturday was £300 on Roger Federer at 1.65 on Betfair to beat Andrew Murray in the Australian Open final – I was expecting to see something like 1.2 when I took acasual glance at the prices and nearly strangled my mouse in my haste to place the bet.

This Murray chap is just a poor man’s Tim Henman in my eyes.

Alvaro Quiros had moved into contention after the thirdround of the Qatar Masters so I was hopeful for my £200 at 30-1, as well as my £100 double with Phil Mickelson to win the Farmers Insurance Open, as I sat down with almost £30’s worth of Chinese takeaway and my mate Trifleface to watch the evening’s sporting action.

Trifleface could not believe how much my mood depended on the scorelines which were rapidly changing in front us.

With Adrian Lewis, my main Players Championship darts wager, looking like he was heading for a second-round defeat to Andy Hamilton at the Circus Tavern, John Higgins (£140 at 8.6 to win the Welsh Open) losing to Ronnie O’Sullivan in the snooker semi-final, and Mickelson making a poor start to his third round at Torrey Pines, I was glumly struggling to find the motivation to force another slice of sesame prawn toast through my crestfallen lips.

But then Lewis rallied to edge past The Hammer, Higgins fought back to win 6-4, Lefty made eagle at the 13th hole to propel himself back into the thick of things, and suddenly I was gayly tossing sweet and sour chicken balls into the air, catching them on my zestful tongue as they fell, and all was right with theworld once again.

Later in the evening, with Trifleface safely returned to his pregnant wife (she decided it was the only way she could become as big as him), I re-evaluated the Qatar Masters, having a £110 press-up on Quiros at 16 on Betfair and a £200 saver on Lee Westwood at 3.95.

Sunday, January 31
I watched Federer toying with Murray, although I had switched over to the golf by the end of the second set, and I’m told I missed seeing the losing finalist burst into tears.

Yep, Murray got just over a million Australian dollars for finishing runner-up. You have to feel for him. It must be so tough to keep the waterworks under control when you realise you’re only being given about £550,000 for spending the week running around in the sun. I’m surprised he didn’t flood Melbourne with his tears after a setback like that.

Quiros finished second in Qatar and Westwood finished third, so I was close to welling up too. An unscheduled visit from my sister and nephew did not help matters and I was given a dressing down in my dressing gown for swearing in front of the little fella as Robert Karlsson kicked clear at the top of the leaderboard. I think mothers tend to overplay how much a kid picks up from what you say in front of them, but if my nephew gets into trouble at nursery for calling someone an “annoyingly consistent lanky Swedish arseface”, I might revise my opinion.

I emptied the contents of my main Betfair wallet (£174.34) on to Karlsson at 1.01 after he had birdied the 17th hole, thinking I might as well use the money-buying opportunity to pay for my Racing Post, and despite Quiros’s near-miss I was in good spirits. I had backed Ricardo Gonzalez ante-post at 400 and he finished ninth – in no other sport can you back genuine title contenders at such fancy prices and I was excited about my golf-betting future.

With Premier League basement boys Portsmouth looking a club in complete disarray, I had to have a couple of football tickles on Man City (£200 to win to nil at 10-11 with Paddy Power and £100 on any unquoted scoreline at 5.2 on Betfair), and then it was on to the final round of the Farmers Insurance, where Ben Crane was topping a curious leaderboard.

I was hoping ante-post selections Mickelson, Charles Howell, Brandt Snedeker and John Rollins might challenge from slightly off the pace, but I had £100 on rising Aussie star Michael Sim at 9 on Betfair when he started looking like Crane’s biggest rival.

Sim soon set about closing the gap between himself and Crane, so I was pleased with my investment, but I got distracted by switching channels to check on the darts. Phil Taylor had just gone 9-7 behind in a first-to-ten legs Players Championship semi-final against Paul Nicholson and I launched £100 on The Power to win the match at 5 on Betfair. He hauled himself to 9-9 and I mentally banked the £400 winnings – Taylor was throwing first in thedeciding leg and long odds-on to emerge victorious – but then Nicholson hit double-five with his final dart (with The Power waiting on 40) to leave me in pieces. I tried to get my £100 straight back by having £200 on Mervyn King to win the final at 1.56 on Betfair, but nasty Nicholson edged another tight match.

Snedeker (£45 at 42) narrowly missed a birdie putt at the par-five 18th which would have got him into a play-off, while Sim laid up on the same hole (I think Tim Clark was on the sidelines giving him some instructions), also made a par and finished tied with Snedeker for second place. I’ve already had four ante-post win-only golf wagers finish runner-up this year (at 41-1, 25-1,30-1 and 41-1). Maybe I need to say the words “each” and “way” a little more often.

Fortunately, Higgins crushed Ali Carter in the Welsh Open final to land me a bag of sand and keep me ticking over nicely.

Monday, February 1
Martin Kaymer was a juicy 12-1 with a few firms for the Dubai Desert Classic but I left the price alone in the hope that it might survive until I could tip up the German in Wednesday’s RPSPORT.

I had some other Dubai wagers on Betfair (£120 on Quiros at 23, £95 on Ross Fisher at 29 and £25 on Gonzalez at 200), £90 on Ernie Els for the Northern Trust Open at 27, £55 on Howell at 45-1 with Bet365, then I marched to a public house to have my first alcoholic beverage since January 1.

I was so excited that my self-imposed month-long drinking ban had been lifted and was ready to savour my first sip of Carling Black Label. But, tragically, the pint tasted more like washing-up liquid than lager – the publican clearly had some issues with his pipes – and every mouthful was an ordeal.

I have never really thought about this until now, but canned lager is so much greater value than draught, don’t you think? Canned lager never lets you down – the lager just goes straight in the tin and is always of good quality – whereas draught lager has so many more potential dangers to pass through (dirty barrels, slimy pumps, etc) before it is put in your glass (which may have been used directly before you by a chap with ten coldsores on his lips). Yet draught lager is much more expensive than canned.

I downed my pint of Fairy and purchased some cans from the off-licence to drink at home instead. If you’re trying to find something to deliver guaranteed satisfaction,you know a can can. You’ve got to be daft to drink draught.

Tuesday, February 2
Much to my chagrin, Kaymer was cut to 11-1 early doors. To take my mind off the shortening German, I popped into the independent bookies round the corner from my new flat to have a dog bet. The chap behind the counter gave me a warm smile during the transaction. Bookmakers usually have good reason to smile when they take my dog bets.

If the bet won, I was going to reward myself with a bacon sandwich for breakfast from the shop across the road. If it lost, I was going to punish myself with the out-of-date crumpets I had at home.

A bit of mould never hurt anyone, eh?

I was struggling to get matched on Betfair for my orders to back Steve Stricker and Rory Sabbatini for the Northern Trust, so I abandoned hope and had £145 on Stricker at 16-1 with Victor Chandler and £70 on Sabbatiniat 33-1 with Ladbrokes. I also had £215 on Kaymer at 12 on Betfair, £65 on Soren Hansen at 40, and a £120 double with Bet365 on Kaymer (11-1) and Els (25-1).

I popped down the snooker club for some baize action and was staggered to find a pair of Germans playing on the neighbouring table. They were not just Germans – a nationality I had never before seen represented in a snooker hall – but they were extremely noisy Germans. In fact, they never shut up, and when I was on the verge of a 30-up (a massive break at my level of snooker), I was furious with their constant jibber-jabber.

If I went to a snooker club in Germany (I’m not even certain they exist), I would be as quiet as a mouse. I’m not a violent person, but I thought about punching one of them in the face just to remind them of the standard practice that if you’re in a foreign country (particularly one with a history of warring against your own), it is not really the done thing to act like you own the joint.

When I missed a black off the spot, I felt like putting some black in their eyes (the blighters probably gobbled up all the 12-1 Kaymer too), but fortunately my peaceful instincts held me back and I did my bit for Anglo-German relations by allowing them to loudly jest around their table. I expect one of them is an up-and-coming player known as the Jester from Leverkusen.

Wednesday, February 3
Spurs will win easy, won’t they? Leave it, Steve, leave it.

Thursday, February 4
Off we go again. Four days of torture before the golfers I back all finish second.

Friday, February 5
Wonderful news from ‘BNLANNON’ on the comments section of the blog – Padraig Harrington is a fan of the diary. I’m not ashamed to admit I love having sporting heroes of mine as readers – Michael Owen, Darren Clarke, Paul Merson and Didi Hamann have all shown an interest – and I might try to arrange my own Sports Personality of the Year awards ceremony in December to rival the BBC one. Those five could be shortlisted for the main gong, I’ll offer Dougie Donnelly a bag of sand to front the show, and I’ll stage it in my lounge.

Let’s get a book running now. If Owen makes the World Cup squad he has got to be favourite, but Harrington and Clarke could hole the decisive putt in the Ryder Cup, and Hamann and Merson could probably still do an excellent job in the Premier League if given an opportunity. I’m going 4-7 Owen, 11-8 Harrington, 5-1 Clarke, 28-1 Hamann, 100-1 Merson. Any takers?

The column returns on February 21. No, I’ve not organised a luxury holiday with a lucky lady for Valentine’s week – I’m going golfing in Spain with another bloke called Steve. Romantic, eh?